Ich bin keine Engel
by Whispatchet
Summary: The RED Heavy has always been of the opinion that every person has some good in them, no matter what. No matter how vicious they are on the battlfield. But the new Medic is vicious off the field... and determined, it seems, to prove the Heavy wrong.
1. Das Neuen Mitglied

"Gentlemen, I have newz."

The small team looked up from their morning activities around the kitchen table to look at the Spy, the forever masked, forever smoking, forever in a pinstriped red suit Frenchman. He held a red envelope in one hand.

Their team had been large once. But, a change in the opposing side had brought their numbers down to only five. A Soldier, an Engineer, a Heavy, a Sniper, and the Spy himself were all that was left.

"Wot's up, mate?" Sniper asked, looking over his coffee mug at the thin man. The Sniper was finding it hard to work out whether the Spy thought the news was good or bad, and the Australian was usually pretty good at working out what people were thinking, just from the look on their face. The Spy's balaclava provided him little protection, so far as his eyes were concerned.

"Well, you see..." The Spy flicked the envelope onto the table between them with one gloved hand, and it slid across the wooden surface before coming to a stop by the Heavy's plate of eggs, sausage and bacon, which he stopped shovelling into his mouth when the object flitted close. "We have just received orderz." The Spy finished.

Dropping his fork onto the table with what could have been distain for life in general, the Soldier snapped his hand out and grabbed the envelope, pulling the contents out with his other hand, and skimming over it. He started, which got everyone looking at him right away.

"We're getting a new recruit!" He announced, tone surprised.

There were various exclamations of surprise.  
"Really?" The Engineer was grinning from ear to ear. "Well, it's about time!"

"Who we get?" The Heavy asked, leaning towards the smaller man to try and see the letter. "Tiny Scout? Pyro? Drunk Man?"  
"Y' mean _Demoman_." Sniper corrected, smirking.

Heavy looked at him, blinking. "Is not same thing?"  
Sniper and Engineer chuckled.

Soldier shook his head. "None of them. They're sending us a Medic."

"A Medic…?" Sniper repeated, looking dubious.

But the Heavy suddenly looked thrilled. "They are sending me a Doktor?" He asked, a large hand reaching out to take the letter from the Soldier, who responded with a loud, "HEY!" which largely went ignored.

The Heavy's eyes lit up as he read the letter. "It true! A Doktor coming!"  
"What did you expect, Private, that I was lying?" The Soldier barked, grabbing his fork and gesturing at the Heavy with it as menacingly as he could. Which wasn't much.

The Heavy was still grinning, but he shook his head at the Soldier's wild fork threatening. "No. Just hard to believe. I not worked with Doktor in… very, very long time. It will be good to have Doktor on team again."

The Engineer looked back at his newspaper. "So, when's th' Doc getting here?" He asked.  
"Ze day after tomorrow." The Spy answered. "Wiff ze uzual suppliez."

"We must make sure Doktor feel welcome in RED base!" The Heavy announced, standing up. "I know! I go sweep Medical Bay where Doktor will work!" And with that decision made, the Heavy stood, collected his remaining breakfast, and trotted out. The remaining mercenaries looked at each other.

"…We have a Medbay?"

… … … … …

The rest of the day saw the Heavy inside the Medbay, happily sweeping the floor with an oversized broom, humming to himself all the while. It had been a very long time since they had last had a Medic on base, and it had been even longer still since the Heavy had last seen one.

Well, an allied one, at least.

Here and there he would occasionally see enemy Heavies with a faster moving, white-coated healer in tow. It always took a little more thinking when he saw a glowing blue Uber Heavy come around the corner. More or less, it involved ducking back and shooting at things that could actually_ be_ shot at for the next ten seconds, until the charge wore off. At which point he would pop out again, and offload several hundred thousand dollars' worth of bullets at the pair, usually aiming for the Medic first.

He hated doing it.

It always wrenched his heartstrings to see the small, thin doctor collapse to the ground in a bloodied heap after being peppered with bullets from his own gun. To see the look of horror on his opposite's face as he sees his companion's torso burst into a fine red mist.

Medics were few and far between on both sides, it seemed. No doctor would accept the terms of employment on either side unless they really needed to. After all, who would agree to running around getting shot at, with a stupidly high chance of getting killed on your first day, and just as high chance of not being able to save the lives of anyone on your team for more than five minutes, when you could just as easily get a job in a hospital, where there was very little chance of either?

But in the hardest of times, they could turn the tide of a battle. They were invaluable.

Which is why every team wanted one. And now they were getting one of their very own!

The Heavy chuckled to himself as he continued to sweep the floor. Listen to him. He was speaking as if the Medic were some kind of pet! He hadn't even met the man yet, and already he was sure the doctor would not appreciate the thought.

After sweeping the floor to rid it off its thick layer of grey dust, the Heavy picked up a cloth and started wiping down the counters. The Medic would know how to do it properly, of course, but it didn't do to welcome a new team member, and then lead him to a messy work area, and tell him to 'have fun'.

And different Medics had different standards. Some stuck to a minimum, 'it's clean so you won't become infected' level of sanitation, others, at a 'your eyes put biohazard filth on every surface you look at-STOP LOOKING AT ME' level.

Of course those were both extremes; most Medics fell somewhere in between.

Idly, as he polished the metal counter top with the damp cloth, he wondered what kind of person their Medic was going to be. Where he would be from.  
They had mercenaries from all over the world in this war; the Spy was from a town in France called Lyon (this was the only bit of personal information the Spy was willing to give up). The Sniper was Australian, born in Melbourne. The Soldier and Engineer were both American; While Engie was from Texas, no one was really sure which part Soldier was from, and no one really cared enough to ask. And as for him, he was Russian, having lived a lot of his life in Novosibirsk.

He had heard Spies cursing in Italian, Demomen speaking Gaelic, and once, a Scout who spoke Greek.

And there were hundreds of countries that were possible. Any of them were possible. It was exciting!

The day after tomorrow couldn't come fast enough!

… … … … …

The following day saw a harsh battle, which ultimately, the small RED team lost. They were adamant that it wasn't their fault. Five against eight were stupid odds to fight against, especially when trying to capture a point. The smaller team could hardly get close to the point, let alone be able to capture it. They were lucky that the worst injury was a line of ragged, bloody bullet holes up the Heavy's left arm. Unlucky though, the Engineer was unable to have much done about it, apart from painfully digging the bullets out of his flesh with a pair of needle nose pliers, and then bandaging him up.  
"You'll scar up somethn' harsh, with wounds like that." Engineer told him.  
Heavy shook his head. "Doktor can look at arm tomorrow." He said. "I wish did not have to ask him to heal on first day…"  
"You couldn't help it." The Texan said gently, cleaning off his pliers. "You were all that was between me n' half dozen holes in the head. I owe ya fer that."  
Heavy smiled. "Have grown to like Engineer. Would be sad to lose you. Or any others."

Engie laughed. "You're a great bleedin' heart, arnt'cha?"  
The large man blinked, and glanced at his chest, before returning his brown eyes to the yellow hard hat. "Was not shot in chest, Engineer."  
That, of course, only made the other man crack up even more. "No, no, you don't get it. It just means you're a big softy." When the confused look did not abate, he added, "You care a lot."

Heavy shook his head, as though it was a silly thing to say. "Of course I do. About all team! We are like small family, yes?"  
"Better not come on too strong to the Medic tomorrow." Engineer warned, suddenly serious.  
"Why?"  
"He's a guy we've never met before, buddy." The shorter man explained. "He might not want to be all friendly at first. I've heard Medics can be… temperamental."

"Non-sense!" Heavy said, confidently. "Have worked with Doktor before, long time ago. Was good partnership!"  
An eyebrow rose over dark goggles. "Uh huh. Let me guess… you both joined at the same time?"  
The large man blinked. "Da. How Engineer know?"  
"People who join together stick together. Happens all the time. But this is a whole new Doc… Goodness only knows what he's like. Just, be prepared for the chance that you might not get along."

"Da. Will be prepared. Don't worry! Will all be fine!"

… … … … …

The next day, the team had all gathered to wait for the truck that would bring them their supplies, and their new member. They had been here nearly a year together, and none of them could remember a day where the Supply Truck had been anything but on time.

So they weren't exactly prepared when the truck came hurtling over the horizon, a whole twenty minutes early.  
"What the bloody…?" Sniper muttered, pulling himself off the large rock he had sat down on, not five minutes ago.  
"Ze truck is early." Spy said, looking at his watch. "…Unuzual."  
"He's also bein' driven like he's a wild bull 'nstead of a thing on wheels…" Engineer pointed out.

And it was true. The driver was speeding recklessly across the red soil towards their base, like Hell itself were on his tail.

The large supply truck skid to a stop by the base entrance, kicking up a large cloud of red dust, which had the RED team coughing, and coated in a fine layer of red earth. There was a pause as the driver pulled on the park brake, and climbed out of the cab, looking like he was half expecting someone to stab him in the back any second. "So sorry for being late!" He declared, running around to the back of the truck to pull it open.  
"You're early, mate." Sniper tried to tell him, but he was too busy fumbling with the latch on the truck to notice.  
After a minute, the metal doors were swung open, and there was a dull THUD as someone jumped down off the back.

The team shuffled around to see the person who had just emerged, and, evidently, scared the absolute balls out of the truck driver.

He was about six foot seven, with broad shoulders, a square jaw and dark grey hair. Cold, ice blue eyes glared through a pair of circular glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose, regarding the small five man team coolly. He was dressed in a pale red coat, with a white collared shirt underneath, and a bright red tie. His hands were covered by thick red gloves, and on his back, a metal backpack with a glowing red globe on the side. A tube connected the backpack to a large, gun like nozzle, which was hooked onto the side of the pack, for now. Hanging from his belt on his left side was a strange looking gun with a clear chamber, dozens of red and silver streaks inside. Hanging on his right, there was a large, serrated silver saw.  
And slung over his shoulder, a leather travel bag.

Heavy grinned and stepped close. "You must be new Doktor! Welcome to team!" He said enthusiastically. "I am Heavy Weapons Guy. Very happy to meet you!" He stuck a large hand out in offer to shake hands.

But the cool blue glare never left his face. The doctor slowly looked to his right, at the four other dust covered men standing there, watching him expectantly. The blue gaze lifted slightly to regard the base behind them, dust covered and sun-bleached stone, concrete and timber, which had been bold red when it was new.

Slowly, the eyes returned to the Heavy, who still had his hand extended, although his eyes were starting to get a sliver of worry in them.

The Medic huffed. "Vell." He said in a thick German accent… which made the Soldier twitch violently. "It is no vonder vhy I have been called in." He ignored the way the Soldier was suddenly glaring daggers at him, and turned his gaze on the Heavy's arm. "You look like you need some help already. Und you are all _vilthy_." He added, casting a sideways glance at the rest of the team.

Spy, Sniper and Engineer all suddenly grabbed Soldier as, with an angry snarl, he tried to pounce the Medic. "LET ME GO!" He roared. "LET ME AT HIM!"  
"Soldier! Control yourzelf!"  
"You're out of y'mind, mate!"  
"He's a RED! You can' just jump him!"  
"LET ME AT THE NAZI BASTARD!"

Heavy's eyes snapped back to the doctor. And the large man grimaced a little. The Medic's eyes had just dropped another ten degrees or so, and had become hard. And the Heavy had to stop himself from flinching when that hard gaze was turned on him.

"You vill show me zhe Medical Ward." He said firmly, his tone dark, as if it promised very many nasty things should he not do as told. "I vill treat your vound, and I vill see just how much trouble you are all in."

The Heavy's mouth opened and closed wordlessly a few times, before he snapped it shut. That glare was narrowing at him, ever so slightly. He frowned, but nodded. "Da… is… this way."

The large man started leading the new doctor inside, who followed wordlessly, not looking at the others at all as he passed. This only seemed to irk the Soldier more, and he hissed like a wild animal.  
The other three kept a tight hold on him until the Heavy had led the Medic well into the base, before even thinking about letting him go.

"What in HELL is command THINKING!" Was his enraged cry.

… … … … …

Heavy watched as the Medic placed his bag down on the desk in the Medbay office, and started looking around. A frown appeared on the larger man's features as the doctor seemed to regard the room's state with distain.

Hoping to alleviate the tense air, he spoke up. "I clean Ward as best I can yesterday, when learned you were coming." He explained. "Not been used in very long time."  
"I can see zhat." The Medic said dully. "It vill take all afternoon to get zhis mess cleaned up."  
"Was worse, yesterday. Very dusty!"

The Medic turned and looked at him, that cold glare unchanged, except by the slightest raising of his left eyebrow. He huffed, and pulled a chair out of the office, and placed it near one of the berths.  
"Vell, let us get zhis done. Sit." He instructed.

The Russian nodded, and sat down on the chair, holding his arm forwards for the Medic to see. The shorter man pulled his red uniform gloves off, and replaced them with disposable ones, before he started peeling back the bandages without a word, and started to inspect the damage. He didn't even flinch when the ragged wounds greeted him by starting bleeding again in a slow ooze.

The Medic snorted, and turned to a small First Aid Kit he had pulled out of the office. From it, he withdrew some fine string, and a container which contained a sterile needle. Retrieving the needle from its housing, he threaded it, and, without so much as a word of warning, jabbed the needle into the Heavy's flesh, ignoring how the larger man jumped in surprise.

Silently, he stitched the jagged, torn flesh back together, ignoring how the Heavy twitched with each stab of the needle, and how he hissed in pain when he pulled a pair of scissors out and snipped dry, ragged torn pieces of loose skin off the edges of the wounds.

When the shorter man was satisfied with the condition of the Heavy's arm, he lay a gauze pad over the stitching, before binding his bicep and forearm in a wide, white bandage, which he secured with a small metal clip.

"Zhe bandages must be changed in two days." The Medic droned as he began packing up, removing his gloves and throwing them out before washing his hands in a nearby sink. "If zhe stitches do not hold, or it begins to bleed through zhe dressing, let me know at once."  
"Yes, Doktor." The Heavy said obediently. "Thankyou."

"You can go." Was the cold dismissal.

Heavy stood, and headed for the door, pausing just as he stepped in the corridor. "Oh, I nearly forget!" He reached into the satchel on his belt, and pulled out a sandwich, in a ziplock bag. "I make Doktor Sandvich, for after long trip!" He turned to hand it to the other man, but as he did so, the Medbay door closed with a firm THUD, right in front of his face.

He stared at the metal door with wide eyes.

He had not… Been prepared for that.

* * *

Whispy: I know I shouldn't be starting so many new stories when I have old ones to finish, but I was INSPIRED!  
Hee hee. The Medic is my favourite class. And, I'm not bad at him, if I do say so myself.

Subscriptions and Favourites make me feel good, comments help me get better!


	2. Kalt wie Eis, Dunkel wie Nacht

The team didn't see the Medic again for the better part of the day. He stayed behind the closed Medbay doors, presumably bringing perfection to the Heavy's cleaning attempt.

Most of the team were not worried by this fact.  
The Spy, the Sniper and the Engineer were too busy keeping the Soldier distracted enough so he wouldn't go barging into the Medbay, right up to the Medic, and start pummelling him, just for how he spoke.  
Soldier was adamant that the doctor was a Nazi, of all things.

"Look, Solly. When are ya gunna calm down?" Sniper asked him. "It's bin' hours now, Mate. We shouldn't have ta' babysit ya."  
The Soldier turned and glared at the Sniper (it was presumed he was glaring under the helmet) "You are asking me to be calm when there is a Nazi Infiltrator on our base?"  
"He din't look like any Nazi I've ever seen."  
"Ah'm sure the Doc's just German, _without_ the Nazi baggage, Solly." The Engineer agreed.

"You're all so easily fooled! You saw that look on his face! CLEARLY Nazi!"

"Soldier, you know zere were plenty of Germanz in zat war of yourz zat were _not_ Nazi, oui?" Spy asked him.  
Soldier folded his arms and huffed.  
"Give the Doc a chance, M'kay?" Engineer told him. "We could owe our lives to that guy one o' these days, wouldn't do t'shit him off."  
"I would rather throw myself in front of twenty Sentries than owe my life to HIM." Soldier said harshly, making the other three sigh.

The Engineer stood up from his seat at the dining table, and headed to the fridge. "He jus' seems a little grumpy to me." He said, opening the fridge door to fetch a beer.  
As he did so, his eyes caught sight of something on the shelf.

Carefully labelled in what was the Heavy's 'neat' handwriting, was a meticulously prepared sandwich in a ziplock bag, the label reading 'Medic'.  
The Texan pulled his goggles down off his face and looked at the label again, just to make sure he saw it right, which, worryingly, he had.  
He turned and looked over his shoulder at the other mercenaries. "Th' Heavy 'aint given the Doc his Sandvich yet." He said flatly.

That made all of them look up.

Of the five of them, the Heavy had been there the longest. Seen the most action on this base. Lost the most teammates. He had always been thrilled to get new friends transferred in, and had made a point of making them each a sandwich (or Sandvich, as he called them, with a capital S and a v) as something of a welcome present, which he had personally handed each of them when they arrived.

They all remembered getting one when they got there.

So why was one for the Medic… Not with said Medic?

"Y' don't think 'e woulda fergot, would'ja?" Sniper asked, worriedly.  
"Non, I remember 'im 'aving it on 'im when ze Medic arrived." The Spy, ever observant, said, shaking his head.

"Then… the Nazi turned it down…?" Soldier muttered, aghast.  
The Soldier had been thrown a little off kilter when the mountain of a man had shoved a Sandvich into his hands when he had gotten there. He hadn't been all that fond of the Russian at first either, knowing full well that Russia was a communist country, and that too, sat just left of what he thought was proper.

But the American couldn't bring himself to turn it down. Not with the big man smiling at him the way he had been. It just seemed like it would shatter the big guy should he say no.  
And it had been a damn good sandwich, too.

Soldier stood up. "Maybe we should go look for him." He said.  
The others agreed.

… … … … …

They found the Heavy in the Armoury, absently flicking spent cartridges against the opposite wall.

"Heavy?" Soldier ventured, as the group walked in.  
The large man turned and looked at the rest of his team. He looked dejected.  
They all frowned. "Y' alrigh' Mate?" Sniper asked, tilting his head forward and his hat back so he could peer over the top of his mirrored sunglasses at the Russian.

The Heavy shrugged slightly, and returned his eyes to the bullet casings he had in the palm of his hand. "…Da."  
"Did ze Medic look at your arm?" The Spy asked, grunting as he was elbowed in the side by the Engineer.  
"Da. Doktor stitch arm, put new bandages on." Was the reply.  
"Did y'… give 'im his Sandvich?" Sniper asked, receiving a kick to the back of his leg.  
"Would you guys knock it off?" The Engineer hissed. "It's not helping!"

The Heavy sighed lightly, and dumped the handful of casings into a nearby bin.

"Doktor excuse me from Medbay before I can give Sandvich." He told them.  
The Engineer frowned worriedly. "…I did tell ya' to be prepared for somethin' like that…" He said gently.  
"No. To be prepared for not getting along with Doktor." He responded, shaking his head. "Not for _that._"

The Soldier growled darkly. "RIGHT." He turned on his heel and pushed past the others before storming down the hall.  
"Where in blazes do you think you're goin', huh?" Sniper shouted after him, as the group turned and jogged after the irate warrior.  
"I'm going to have WORDS with that Nazi bastard, and none of you are going to stop me!" He snapped, breaking into a run.

But he hardly got three steps before a large hand came down and caught him by the collar, lifting him off his feet. He let out a yelp of surprise, and looked back over his shoulder. Holding him firmly but gently, the Heavy shook his head at the Soldier, before placing him back on his feet.  
"….But…"  
"No, is fine. Leave Doktor alone."

Engineer shook his head from behind the large man. Even after having the door coldly closed in his face, the Russian just couldn't help it; even on some level, he cared about that Medic, already.

"Y' big softie." He muttered, although only the Spy and Sniper heard him.

… … … … …

Although the Solider argued for all he was worth, the Heavy refused to allow him to annoy, shout at, hit or otherwise hurt the Medic. It was his first day; maybe he just took time to warm up to people, was all. He was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He didn't believe in completely unkind people.

Besides, what good would come of bothering the Medic about it?  
"Hey you, we're shitted because you didn't take your Welcome Sandvich!"  
It was a weird thing to confront someone over.  
Sure, it had hurt the Heavy's feelings a little; no one had _ever_ turned a Sandvich down before, but, it was nothing to get in a snit about.

And if anything, the Soldier's reaction had made him feel a little better. That the other man wanted to confront the doctor over such a small slight of manners… it was nice to be cared for like that. Especially from the Soldier, who rarely showed any emotions other than loud and angry. …Loud was an emotion, right?

The Heavy was sure the Medic would come around soon enough. He had placed the Sandvich in the fridge, clearly labelled with the Medic's name. And no matter how long the doctor stayed in the Medbay, he would have to come out in search of food at some point, and to shower, and, of course, to come to war. So eventually, the doctor would see it, and realise it was meant for him, and take it.

That was the plan, anyway.

And they'd quickly find out if the plan would work, because later that evening, an alarm rang throughout the base, followed by a dispassionate female voice, which said, "Attention. All Mercenaries to Briefing Room. Repeat – RED Mercenaries to Briefing Room."

The team all headed down to the Briefing Room, which was down the hall a bit from the Kitchen, halfway to the Dorms. It contained little more than a long conference table, which ordinarily would seat ten, but the far end was taken up by a large speaker box and camera system. There was no screen; clearly the person who was on the other end didn't much care to show her face to her lowly subjects.

The team filed in. The Soldier took the Head chair at the end of the table closest to the door. The Spy sat on his left, the Engineer on his right. The Heavy sat one seat away from the Spy, and the Sniper sat beside him, two seats away from the Spy. They had sat in those very same seats every time they had come in here. It was like they were just supposed to sit in those places… although there was an agonising four seats vacant; three beside the Engineer, and one between where the Spy and Heavy sat.

They sat in silence, waiting for the ever charming-coughcough-voice of the Administrator to rasp through the speaker. A minute went by, then two.

And then the Heavy looked up. "Where is Doktor?"

The Engineer shook his head with a sigh. "No one thought to fetch him on the way here, huh?"  
There was a round of noncommittal grunts.

He shook his head and stood. "I'll go find him, if no one else will." And he stood, well aware that if someone didn't bring the Medic there, they'd be sitting in the Briefing Room all night, not knowing what they were in for the next day.

Just as the Engineer reached out to pull the door open, it swung forward to meet him, hardly a centimetre away from beating him in the nose. It did smack his hand rather hard however, and he stepped back, shaking it. "Ah, dagnabbit…!" He looked up, and found his gaze meeting a familiar, ice cold glare.

"It's about time you showed up, Maggot!" Soldier snapped, glaring at him from under his helm.

The Medic ignored the Soldier, and directed his cold blue hues on the Engineer's hand. "…..Have you gone and hurt yourselv?" He asked, voice almost a deadpan, but not quite.  
"YOU did that, you little-"

"Take your seats!" A harsh female voice snapped, hissing out of the speaker at the end of the table.  
The Engineer turned slowly, eyes wide under his goggles, acting much like a child caught fighting in the schoolyard. The Texan huffed, and with a glare at the Medic, he stormed back to his chair, dropping into it and folding his arms over his chest.  
The Medic hovered for a moment, his eyes roving over the available seats. Then, slowly, but purposefully, he took the seat opposite the Sniper, at the very end.

The Heavy shifted uncomfortably. That wasn't… where the Medic was supposed to sit! It felt wrong! It was like if the Engineer had sat between him and the Spy, or if the Soldier had sat anywhere other than at the head of the table (being the team leader of sorts). It'd just be wrong.  
And the Heavy could remember that the last time they had a Drunkma- _Demoman,_ he had sat in that spot, at the end.

So the whole meeting suddenly felt _wrong._

The Administrator, however, didn't seem to care where her underlings sat, because now that they all had their rears in chairs, she began to speak.

"I see your newest member has arrived safely." She began, the camera swivelling to take in the German's emotionless appearance.  
"Ja." He said simply.

There was a pause, as if she were nodding her head in approval, and then the camera swivelled back to centre.

"You have a mission tomorrow morning."  
"Goodie." The Sniper muttered under his breath.

"We have gotten word that the BLU mercenaries are using the old rail tracks to the north of you to deliver a cart full of powerful explosives to the base. You need to stop that Payload before it reaches the final terminus."

The Spy straightened. "Zat rail does not go all ze way to ze base." He said. "It stops near one of ze old sheds on ze perimeter."

"The rail system has an elevator at the end, which BLU will use to send the cart down, through the old mines that run beneath the surface. If they get the cart underground, then it is a short trip to the underside of the base where you are currently stationed."

The Soldier stood in alarm so violently that his chair was knocked over with a clatter, as his hands came down hard on the wooden table top. "There is an _undefended_ access point to our base? Why were we not informed about this tunnel?"

If the Administrator was annoyed at the Soldier's outburst, she didn't let it show in her voice. "You can now consider yourself informed." She told him flatly, making him growl irritatedly.

While the Soldier turned to pick up his chair, the Administrator continued. "The tunnels do not give direct access to your base, but if the Payload is pushed underneath you via those tunnels and detonated, there will not be enough left of the entire base to put in a single casket." She said dully. "Do NOT allow them to get the cart to the elevator at the end of the surface rail. There is no access to those tunnels otherwise."

"We can't do something about that elevator?" The Engineer asked.

"We have people working on it as we speak." She told them. "It will take them some time to override the control system and lock them out. You only need to hold them back long enough for us to lock that elevator, thus preventing them from getting into the tunnels."

The Sniper gave the camera a sceptical look. "Is tha' really th' only way ta' get inta' th' tunnels? No other entrances anywhere else?"

"We do not believe so."

"We be filling tunnel in after, Da?" The Heavy wondered, trying not to let how _wrong_ this all felt show in his voice. "Pile of concrete at entrance to stop leetle team from trying again."

"We will look into that after the mission is concluded." The Administrator said. It was clear that she really meant 'when we see if you succeed or not'.

The Soldier growled a little. "It that all?" He asked, trying his hardest not to snap at her.  
"That is all. Do not disappoint me."

With that small dismissal, they stood, the Medic slower than the other five, and left the room.

The moment the Soldier heard the door click behind them, he turned to the side and violently kicked the wall. "There is an undefended tunnel under the base!" He spat, still clearly vehement about that fact.  
"She's doin' somethin' about it, Solly, don't get your rockets in a twist." The Engineer reminded him.

"It's not the point! How long has that tunnel been there? Must have been before the war started! And she's only telling us about it _now?_" His face was slowly changing colour in his rage.

The Spy struck a match and lit a fresh cigarette. "If it will stop you from 'urting ze mazonry..." He said, gesturing to the scuffed wall with the smoking stick of nicotine. "I will go and inzpect ze tunnel."  
The Soldier turned and looked at the Spy carefully, as though he suspected him of traitorous thoughts (although he _was_ a Spy, so this was more or less the usual way he regarded the Frenchman) before speaking again. "No member is to go out there alone." He said firmly.

He looked at the others for a moment. The Engineer was too valuable for defence, so should something happen out there, he didn't want the Texan to be caught in it. The Heavy was much too big for sneaking about. He himself needed to start getting supplies and things ready for the morning's mission. The Sniper wasn't great when he was put personally in harms way, and was another level of defence they couldn't do without.

As far as the Soldier cared, there was only one expendable mercenary present.

"Take the Nazi with you." He said firmly, before stalking off towards the Supply Station.

The Heavy looked down at the Medic, who had been standing behind them, waiting for them to get out of the way so he could return to what he had been doing before the summons from on high. That ice cold glare had narrowed slightly again, and was affixed to the Soldier's back as he marched away.

He was going to have to talk to the Soldier about calling the Medic a Nazi. It… wasn't going to help him warm up to them any. And seeing as it seemed to annoy the Medic, it was a fair bet that he _wasn't_ a Nazi, anyway.

The Spy sighed, and turned to look at the Medic. "Will you come 'elp me inzpect ze tunnel, Doctor?"  
The glare returned to its usual emotionlessness as it was directed at the Spy. "If I must." The Medic answered, voice flat.  
The Spy nodded, and gestured down the hall. "Very good. We shall go now, oui?"

The Medic nodded once, firmly, and strode down the hall with purposeful strides. The Spy quirked an eyebrow at the doctor, but followed after him without a word.

The Engineer looked up at the Heavy. "Still think there's some good in 'im?" He asked, flexing his hand. The bastard hadn't even apologised for that.  
The Heavy frowned at the shorter man. "Da. I do."

The Engineer huffed. "Well, if you find it buddy, do the rest of us a favour, and staple it to his outsides. It's not doin' us any good with it buried under all that ice."

… … … … …

The Spy was impressed.

And he didn't impress easily.

The Medic, who the Spy had pegged for suspicious and untrusting when he arrived, had turned his back to him. Usually, no one turned their backs on a Spy, friendly or not. Unless they happened to know the Spy remarkably well, but even then they kept one eye on him. He was used to it; it was a profession that didn't make you many friends. He was lucky, really, that his small team trusted him as much as they did. They trusted him more than any other team he'd been on, to the point of only keeping half an eye on him when there might have been enemies around, maybe.

But this Medic, who he had only met this morning, who he had only spoken to once, had turned his back fully to him. Without so much as a second thought. Without looking back.

Now, that did not mean that he trusted the Spy. That was silly. Trusting Spies, let alone ones you've only just met was a quick way to get a knife between your vertebrae. No, this… this was less of the Medic saying he trusted the Spy... and more the Medic saying… he was not concerned.

He was not afraid of him.

And that was impressive. Even enemy Medics had always regarded him with some caution (when he disguised himself as the BLU Spy, which he did occasionally) Although for all the good it did them, they usually ended up with a hole in their backs, paranoia be damned.

But it didn't stop there. The Medic continued to keep his back to the Spy, even when they emerged from the base into the dark of night, where there very well may have been BLUs stalking around, even if he wasn't one of them.

Without turning, the Medic spoke, keeping his ice blue gaze on the darkness around. "Vhere is zhis tunnel?" He asked, only enough fluctuations in his tone to indicate that it was a question.

"On ze perimeter." The Spy answered, cloaking with a soft vzzzzsh. "Ze rails end at one of ze sheds in ze diztance on your left."  
He watched as the Medic slowly slid his gaze to the left, before starting off towards the aforementioned sheds.

It was only at this point that the Spy realised that the Medic was not wearing that backpack of his. Surely it was his primary weapon of sorts? Seemed vastly irresponsible to wander out to where you may encounter the enemy without your main weapon.  
He did still have that small, funny shaped gun, and that saw on his hip, so it wasn't like he was entirely defenceless, so perhaps he'd be alright after all.

The Spy stalked along beside the Medic, instead of behind him. The Frenchman had long legs, so he was able to keep pace with the doctor easily, who moved quite fast, he found. He timed his steps to those of the visible man beside him, to throw off any pursuers.

His cloak didn't have infinite power. He was lucky though. He had a device called the Cloak and Dagger, which, if he stood still, would cloak him more or less indefinitely.  
If he wanted to keep pace with the Medic however, he would not reach the perimeter before it lost power, and he didn't exactly want any BLU observers there might have been to see him half appear, like a ghost.

So, he had no choice. Just before the device lost its power, he stopped.

He looked up at the Medic. And frowned a little. The Medic seemed to have jarred one of his steps very slightly, when the Spy had stopped. It was very slight… very, very slight. Easily missed, or perhaps mistaken for him tripping over a rock, protruding from the ground.

The Medic was very aware of him, it seemed. Maybe that was why he was not wary of the Spy's presence.

Apart from that slight jolt when the Spy had stopped short, the Medic continued onwards to the sheds at that same strong, even pace.

He reached the nearest one, and came to a stop. Carefully, he gazed around at the area. This was not the shed that the rail came to, as it so happened. That one was further up. But the Medic had stopped anyway.

The Spy checked his watch. The device nearly had full power again, which was good; once it was full, he would be able to catch up with the Medic-Why was he just standing there?

As he looked at the doctor further up, he saw him do something very strange indeed. The doctor turned to one side, and fell back slightly, to lean back against the shed he was standing beside. He casually took his round glasses off, pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket, and proceeded to _clean his glasses._

The Spy didn't claim to know what the Medic needed the spectacles for, but he wagered, seeing as they were worn all the time, that they were not reading glasses. He needed them to see, be it long sighted or far sighted, and he had just taken them OFF where there could be BLUs hiding in the dark! Was he _crazy?_

But then the Medic flicked the handkerchief in his direction.

He had made it look casual, as though he was getting dust off the cloth, but it was enough to make the Spy realise what the doctor was doing.

_He was waiting for him._

There was a slight tingle from his watch as it told him it was fully recharged, and, with an unseen nod, the Spy headed forwards once again.  
No longer with the comfort of hiding his quiet footsteps with the Medic's slightly heavier ones, the Spy moved slower, quieter. It also had the benefit of stopping his cloak from running out as quick. Slowly, carefully, he made his way over to the waiting Medic, and stopped on his right side. A glance to his watch told him how much power his cloak had left, and he waited until it was fully recharged again, before reaching out, and lightly tapping the back of the Medic's hand.

The doctor sighed, and flicked the handkerchief once more, before putting it away, replacing his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

Waiting a moment more, the Medic pushed away from the shed he was leaning on, and headed out towards the other sheds; towards the rail that they needed to defend.

The Medic had slowed his pace slightly as they neared their destination, but the Spy was not worried. The Medic knew what he was doing, that much was clear. He must have worked very close with Spies in the past. If he didn't know better, he might even have gone so far as to guess he had BEEN a Spy at some point… But, people didn't just switch classifications, did they? Not so far as he had ever heard. And as far as he cared, most people in this war couldn't if they wanted to. The Heavy could not have pulled off the job of Spy, any more than the Spy could be a Scout. And The Soldier had better chances of taking up Engineering than- he was getting side-tracked.

The Medic stopped beside the shed as he had done the other, and looked around, his ice blue eyes roving over the silver rail where it lay in the dark, glinting in the moonlight.  
"Hmn." He grunted, hardly audible.  
His eyes returned to the horizon and a moment later, the Spy felt, more than saw the Doctor tense up.

A red-gloved hand went to his hip, and the glinting silver saw found the hand of its master.

"Der feind hat eingetroffen." He said quietly.

The Spy was many things, but fluent in German was not one of them. But, he didn't need to be to get the gist of it.

_They had company._


	3. Halten Sie von Unheil und Unrecht

The Spy quietly slipped his butterfly knife into his hand, and held still, watching the horizon for the appearance of the enemy the Medic had detected. It was something of an embarrassment for the doctor to have noticed them first, but, it was not something the Spy could dwell on right now. Presuming that the whole eight opposing BLUs were not here, with their little gift of explosives, when they returned to base, the Spy and the Medic were going to have a _conversation_.

Finally, they appeared. The two BLU Engineers, coming over the ridge.

It wasn't odd to have a single team have more than one of a unit in their ranks. Sometimes it could tip the battlefield in your favour, especially if you had more than one Engineer putting up bullet-spitting, rocket-launching engines of death and destruction, like this BLU team liked to do. But it had its downsides as well. Because somewhere along the line, this whole madness that counted for a war had been organised, and rules had been set in place.

Rules. For a goddamn _war! _The RED and BLU bosses must have viewed this whole debacle as a big game or something… never mind the dozens of people that _died_ every year, more often than not in very unpleasant ways, for the sake of their amusement.

But, it was these rules that were keeping the small team from being obliterated entirely. Because, you could have as many of a single unit on your team as you wanted, by all means. But, you could not have any more than _nine _mercenaries on your team at any given time.

And they had to give the BLUs _some _credit; nine sentries was an unsurmountable defence, sure, but it wouldn't do you much good on attack. It was impractical. So, call it team balance.

The Engineers froze when they spotted the Medic standing there, one hand on his hip (and incidentally, one of his weapons), watching them as though he were expecting them.

From the looks on their faces, they hadn't been expecting HIM.

"Guten abend." The Medic said flatly.

"What _in tarnation…_!"  
They seemed to react as one, pulling their shotguns out and bringing them to bear, so closely timed that they mirrored one another. Had they not both been pointing very _loaded_ guns at the Medic (and by association, at him) the Spy might have been inclined to chuckle.

The Medic did not seem concerned by the guns pointed at him at all.  
"Velcome to RED territory." The doctor said, his voice just as dull and cold as it had been while speaking to his own teammates. As he spoke, he swept an arm out to the side, giving the invisible Spy beside him a firm shove (which surprised the hell out of him, but he would never do anything as unprofessional as admitting it) and then swept it down for a low bow. "Vhat brings you out zhis evening?" He asked, lifting his head again to lock them with his gaze.

The Engineers were thrown somewhat off guard by the Medic's demeanour. It was an unpleasant blend of charm, manners, and then a total emotional void… the kind that threatened to pull their very souls down.

Perhaps that was a little melodramatic.

None the less, it was unnerving. The Medic was downright _creepy!  
_So creepy, in fact, that it took the two BLU tinkerers an additional three seconds to realise, that they could solve this problem, with the shotguns they were currently holding loosely in their hands.

One Engineer, slightly taller than the other, seemed to come to that realisation first, and stiffened, bringing his gun up again. As he did so, the Medic straightened. "Zhere is nozhing for you here, Technikers." He growled.

A loud CRACK-KWWWW split the silent night air as the Frontier Justice offloaded a shot in the doctor's direction.

The Medic sidestepped, but this was a shotgun, not a rocket. As such, it was not just one projectile that you had to dodge. It was several. These were guns designed for getting opponents that were closer, and, ideally, slower, and larger, because when that shell came out of the barrel, its weak casing came loose, spitting out lots of little bits, which sprayed everywhere. So, unless you had the speed of say…. A Scout, and knew the shot was coming, it was very difficult to dodge them all and get away unharmed.

As such, the doctor caught many of the small metal pellets in his collarbone, shoulder and bicep on the left side. He froze for a moment, as the deep crimson bloomed across the pale red of his coat.

His glare narrowed. "…Very vell." He hissed.

The Engineers saw him shift his weight… and then, in a blink, the Medic pulled out that strange gun of his, and squeezed the trigger.

With a soft _thp-thp-thp-thp_ noise, the gun fired dozens of thin, sharp, slivers at the two Engineers. One of them was too slow to move away in time, and caught a neat row of them across his chest and shoulders. He stumbled backwards and looked down, and found about twenty _syringes_ imbedded in his flesh. They contained a red liquid… which was steadily draining into his body. With a yelp, he brushed thesyringes off, but a large measure of, whatever they had been filled with, had already been injected into his system, and the remainder was dribbling onto his uniform, followed by thin, bloody trickles.

The second Engineer reloaded his shotgun and took aim at the doctor again, but he dove behind the shed beside which he was standing. The Engineer huffed and stepped forward to take chase…

But then his companion flopped to his knees. "What in….Sam Hill…?" The man mumbled, before flopping down. The taller Engineer looked down at him, alarmed. The other Engineer's face had gone red, and he had broken into a cold sweat. And he was panting.

A soft _vshww_ sounded from beside the Engineers, and the one standing whipped around to see the RED Spy standing there, knife in hand.

Several things happened at once.

The Engineer brought his shotgun around to bear at the Spy, just as the Medic leapt back out from behind the shed, weapon sending another rain of syringes in their direction. In the same moment, the Spy brought his knee up, striking the Engineer's wrist, which sent the shotgun clattering to the ground.

As the Engineer moved to avoid the hail of syringes, the Spy kicked the shotgun clear out of the shorter man's reach, before cloaking again, vanishing from sight.

The second Engineer caught only two of the sharp things in his bicep, and he knocked them out at once, before returning his attention to the Medic.

The German was still impassive, and really, the look was not improved by his now being covered in blood. (Didn't matter that it was his own blood, and not the blood of one of the BLUs. Blood was blood.) Calmly, the RED put the gun away, and retrieved his saw, before stalking towards the other Engineer, who was still quivering on the ground.

"Vhat a shame." The Medic said, emotionless. "It looks like I vill have to _amputate._" And he made for the fallen BLU with the saw.

"NO!" The Engineer shouted, lunging forward to come between the deadly saw and his ill friend.

The hungry, serrated teeth of the saw bit deep into the flesh of his forearm as he leapt forwards. As he did so, he didn't register the sound of the Spy reappearing behind him… but the Spy wasn't expecting him to dive between his friend and the Medic's saw, and so the blade of the butterfly knife dug into the back of his leg.

Both REDs drew back slightly, disappointed that their goals had been kept from them. But they wouldn't get a chance to try again, as, wafting over the red soil, came a voice neither of them wanted to hear.

"Yo, Engies! Y'alright? Where are ya?"

The Medic replaced his dripping saw on his hip. "Zhe BLU Scout." He said dully. "Unvortunate."

With that, he turned on his heel, and stalked away from the two Engineers, vanishing into the darkness.

The Spy hated leaving a job half done, but, he had to admit, there was little chance that he would be able to off all three of them on his own. Especially seeing as one of them, he knew, would not be able to stand still long enough for him to introduce his knife to the delicate cluster of nerves and veins amongst that ribbon of bone in his back. And unless the Scout nicked off, or could be dealt with before hand, he wouldn't be able to get near the half dead Engineers.

That was annoying.

But, there was always the battle tomorrow, he supposed. Presuming the Engineers would even be there. So, cutting his losses, so to speak, the Spy cloaked, and headed after the Medic.

… … … … …

"Doktor! You're hurt!"

The Heavy wasn't happy to see the blossoms of red blood across the Medic's pale coat when he and the Spy returned to base. The Medic did not seem upset by the injury at all, and was facing the Heavy the same way he had done earlier; shoulders set, back straight, glare piercing.

"It iz nozhing." He said flatly.

The Heavy reached out a meaty hand and pointed directly at the blood that was still dampening the shorter man's uniform, giving the Medic a _Then what's this?_ Sort of look.

The Medic's glare did not abate. "It iz nozhing." He repeated. He lifted an arm to look at his sleeve and glove. "However…" He brought the other hand around and dragged a fingertip along his forearm and the back of his hand, leaving a faint trail in the dust that clung to him, after the excitement outside. "…Zhere is a lot of dust here."  
The Heavy sighed.  
"Da, I understand." He said, shaking his head. "Showers are this way." He pointed, but then proceeded to lead the Medic forwards, towards the Locker Room.

… … … … …

The Locker Room was much like one would imagine it to be. Tiles on the floor and walls, a set of cubbies along one wall, several shower stalls along another. The third wall had sinks and mirrors, some bust height, some full length (usually used by the Spy for preening). And beside the door on both sides were cupboards and shelves where soap and towels and things were kept in stock.

The Medic stepped over to the cubbies, and ran his eyes over them, choosing one for himself, a fair distance away from any of the others that still had things in them.

As the doctor started removing his bloodied coat and shirt, the Heavy went to the store cupboards to get the shorter man a towel and things. In the time it took him to find a clean towel that hadn't already been claimed by one of the others, and ponder if the doctor wanted to wash his hair (he and the Sniper were the only ones that actually had hair on their heads to think about washing) the Medic had already chosen a stall, closed the door, and turned the water on.

And from the cloud of steam that issued from the stall, he had turned it on HOT.

"Do not burn yourself, Doktor." The Heavy warned, plodding over to the stall and flicking the towel over the door. The Medic did not grace that with an answer.

The Heavy shook his head, and looked over at the cubbies, and the blood covered coat and shirt placed inside them.

They hadn't been folded as such, but they hadn't been just shoved in there like most of them tended to do. The Heavy reached in, and pulled the Medic's uniform out, wanting to look at the holes in the cloth.

As he pulled the coat free, there was a quiet _pnk-pnkpnk-pnk-pnk_ sound as half a dozen little pips of metal fell out of the coat and pattered down onto the tiled floor. Blinking, the Heavy crouched down, and picked a few of them up.

They didn't call him the Heavy Weapons Guy for nothing.  
Sure, one of the big factors was he had a weapon that weighed one hundred and fifty kilograms, and the amount of ammunition it spat out could sink a small… maybe even medium sized boat.  
But he was also a weapons _expert_.  
He knew the difference between a bullet from his minigun, Sasha, and say, a round from the Swing Action Revolver the Spy used. He knew the length and diameter of the rockets the Soldier loaded into his Rocket Launcher, and he knew the exact amount of black powder that was nestled inside the bullets that were fired from the Sniper's Rifle.

As such, he knew exactly what these were. He looked at the scattered holes in the soiled fabric to confirm his suspicions. There was no mistaking it.  
"Shotgun round?" He said out loud, looking over at the occupied stall, which was still issuing voluminous clouds of steam.

The Medic surprised the Heavy by responding over the hiss of the water. "Ja."

Stunned by the actual response, the Heavy was quiet for a moment… before putting his mind to task thinking of everyone who generally used a shotgun. He had one, the Soldier had one, and the Engineer had one too. The Scout from the BLU team had a Scattergun (which was like a shotgun for his tiny tiny hands), and he knew he'd seen the Pyro use a shotgun occasionally, as well.

"Who was there?" The Heavy asked. Much as he would have liked to, he could not determine the owner of the gun from the bullet holes in the doctor's clothes.

"….Engineers." Was the response as the water turned off.

There was a minute of silence, and then the stall opened. The Medic was wearing only his trousers, and was rubbing his hair with the towel as he walked out.

The Heavy's eyes widened.

The Medic had very well defined muscles in his torso and arms. For someone who had such a passive job, he looked at LEAST as strong physically as the Soldier was. But, that wasn't what was catching the Heavy's attention now.

All across his chest and arms was a multitude of scars. Some small and light, some harsh, raised scars. The Heavy knew enough about weapons to know that many of those would have come from the doctor being shot. Other scars looked more like he had been cut by some sort of blade.

And across his collar bone and bicep on the left side, was a scattering of pink marks… freshly healed shotgun wounds.

The Medic must have realised the Heavy was staring, because his ice cold gaze narrowed. "…Vhat." He said darkly.  
The Heavy started and lifted his gaze to the doctor's face. "….You have many scars." He said after a moment.  
The Medic glared at him for a moment, before shrugging, and returning to drying his short hair. "Und? Ve are in a var, aren't ve?"

The Heavy frowned, and looked down at the bloody cloth in his hand. "….Didn't you get hit?" He asked, pointing at the blood.  
The Medic huffed slightly as he retrieved his glasses from the cubby. "It vas nozhing." He said, placing them on the bridge of his nose.

* * *

Short Chapter is Short


End file.
